


Easy

by Causa



Series: Pride [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Conversation, F/M, Orlais, Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts, Winter Palace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2818382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Causa/pseuds/Causa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This follows Solas during the night of the ball at the Winter Palace. Spoilers for Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy

When the Inquisitor asked Solas to accompany her to the Winter Ball he was unsure if she had gained some new insight into his character or if she simply enjoyed his company; he took it as a compliment either way.

 

When he arrived in Orlais with the Inquisitor he was immediately assumed to be her help; he played the role quite well after swallowing his disgust (disgust– not at the thought of enslaving one's own-he was quite aware of that-but that the people of Orlais would assume the inquisitor herself would do such a thing – and follow her regardless. It left a stronger, more sour taste than it should have given what he knew of Orlesian culture.) The curious thing about being a servant of such a salient figure as the Inquisitor was that, in the unspoken hierarchy, he was placed above the others, who began approaching him almost immediately after he positioned himself at his perch by the window.

 

"May I get you something to drink–"

 

There was that pause–they saw the ears, the garb, and his demeanor and were unsure what to make of him.

 

"–milord?"

 

"Certainly, thank you," he said with a smile that was not _too_ polite, nor ungrateful. He paid less attention to his smile as they refilled his glass, and the more they did the more his disgust lessened and was replaced by contentedness; of course he was unable to mingle much, but watching the Inquisitor as she moved and listening to her speak to the myriad of gowns and suits, going through the niceties, the smiles and laughs, touches on the shoulder to play up what had been there all night, pretending something was there with a coy gaze in the hopes that it would loosen the lips of one who obviously knew something worth knowing. The Inquisitor looked to be enjoying herself; so was he. The air was thick with sin and surprise, and even if he could only enjoy it vicariously through her, he could enjoy the nostalgia.

 

He had been to parties like this, beautiful and grand, but they had never been quite so _easy_. As he noticed a serving girl pouring wine in his cup it occurred to him that lazy would, perhaps, be a better term. What was wrong with the host placing goblets on tables and the guests retrieving them themselves? The only advantage it presented was that it was harder to keep track of how much one drank, which had its uses in events like these–he swirled the wine in has near-empty glass and took a sip–but it didn't have to be elves doing the serving. No other people felt they had to subjugate themselves out of necessity–and it was other people who kept reinforcing their misguidance. If only he had—

 

The Inquisitor approached him, looking ravishing. He smiled at her. His mouth was moving on its own and as he watched her walk away he thought to himself that perhaps he should start drinking less; he knew he had had too much when he found himself in the servant's quarters, giving a lecture to a girl who was holding a platter of heavy hors d'oeuvres.

 

"You don't have to live like this. You have potential, I'm sure, _all_ of you–"

 

The girl was nodding politely, looking as though she had heard all this before. She hadn't. He knew she hadn't because he knew and he was sure that he was the only one in the entire ball who knew their history and what their people had accomplished and what they could accomplish. But he was feeling dizzy now and she was attempting to hand him one of whatever was on that tray and not listening to him anymore. He took it–ham-and-cheese something–and began eating, thanking her. He turned to leave when he felt a hand on his shoulder. An elf was looking at him with wild eyes that held the frustration and anger of a hundred conversations.

 

"I'm tired of lucky, rich cunts like you acting like you know anything about what life is like for us. I grew up in a gutter. I'm just lucky to be alive right now. Sure, I'd like to think this is a stepping stone to some great thing but the truth is this is probably all I'll ever amount to and I'm blessed by the creators to achieve this much."

 

Solas looked at the young man in front of him; he was pale and thin and dirty, his angular face flushed with emotion. His vallaslin reached across the entirety of his face and were red.

 

"Achieve?" Solas repeated, perplexed.

 

"Yes, achieve! I started out in some dingy bar in nowhere and now I'm standing here in Halamshiral! But you condescending cunts with your fancy clothes and your little stories about Elvhenan and the 'glory days'...the rest of us don't have the luxury of reminiscing. We're too busy surviving. Not that I'd expect privileged _shems_ like you to understand that."

 

"Y- _You_ –" Solas stammered "–are calling _me_ –"

 

"I'm sorry, milord," began the unfortunate girl who was still holding the platter, "He's had a bad day, is all, he…"

 

"That's…that's–yes," Solas mumbled, starting up the stairs. It was not fifteen minutes later that the Inquisitor found him and brought him where he just had been, and that girl was dead on the floor. The Inquisitor did not notice his face go pale at the sight, nor did she notice his uneven footing as they fought through waves of demons and assassins. By the time they had stopped Celene's murder and apprehended those responsible, any pleasant effects the wine had had on his mood were mostly vanished, but watching the Inquisitor saunter across the room and up to the balcony, giving the perfect speech and rousing the crowd made him feel giddy with his own memory and her accomplishment. After a last glass of wine that he took from an abandoned tray he found the Inquisitor alone outside. The woman looked exhausted, but did not decline his offer to dance.


End file.
